arranged wedding.

what the fuck?

you had just turned 18 in June, and your parents were already talking about an arranged marriage?!

you grew up in a royal family, you knew that you had to get married early and that the person you would have to marry would have to be approved by your family considering you were first in line for the crown, but at eighteen? seriously?

you were going to college in 2 weeks, and your parents wanted you to get married.

and not married to someone of your choice— no. it was of their choice. and it was the one man that you wouldn’t even touch with a 9ft pole.

beckett alistair. AKA beck. AKA man-whore. AKA your worst nightmare since you were 10.

you parents had ties in through the royal line, and had been partners for years. to the public, Beckett was the golden boy of royals, and people pitied him for losing his mom when he was 12.

to anyone with common sense, he was a man-whore who used his pretty privilege to get what he wanted. all the time.

anyways, it’s October 13th. you’re last day of freedom.

the trees are already red and orange— and the wind is cool as you walk towards the palace. tonight was the royal ball. an annual ball that was hosted in celebration of fall and Halloween.

as you walk through the crowds, people already are whispering about the soon to be marriage. most are excited— others envied you, however, you wouldn’t be envying anyone who had to date, let alone marry beck against their will.

as you walk over to the table your placed at— you see your parents, beck’s dad and stepmother, and beck. with a seat right next to him.

his blonde hair is perfectly messy, but styled like always, and he’s dressed in a black tux. if it was anyone else, you might actually think he was hot. but to you— he was a dick with a pretty face.

you huff before slowly sitting down next to him. he clearly wasn’t pleased too, having his normal ‘this is fucking stupid’ face on.

while you are sitting there, in mostly silence except for your parents a photographer comes over to take a photo.

to your surprise, beck wraps his arm around your shoulder, and out of instinct you try to push him off— but his hand tightens on your waist.

his lips come close to your ear, brushing against it, “grow the fuck up, princess. if you didn’t realize, we’re getting married— so stop acting like a child and smile for the stupid photo.”